I Monster

What is it about us that so encourages us to want to find and destroy that which we fear or do not know? I have often watched movies in which the werewolf or vampire is sacrificed for the seeming benefit for the rest of the town – only to wonder what exactly it was they were sacrificing. Or even the anti-heroes. How can you not watch V for Vendetta and find yourself convulsing when V dies at the end – fueled with a furious anger and an all consuming righteousness.

Do christians honestly believe the devil lives in the form of a goat – cloven hoofed with slatted eyes? A concept they themselves created in their beginning by “laying all the sins” down upon the goat and sacrificing it to their then blood thirsty god. And if so why is it they cannot see what it really is – their own darkness refusing to die?

Why is it when everyone else is thrilled to see the monster die, a part of me dies as well. Do you not agree that it is the darkness as much as the light that determines who you are? And if you are content to deny a part of who you are – why then should you be trusted?

You and Your Anchor Tattoo

If you really believe the stories, then it is all divine intuition marred and harrowed down by concrete science. I stared at the moon, fat full with light and magic, as if she would produce an answer. She remained silent in her passage across the sky, as I sat against the frost bitten pane.

The world pooled serenely outside the translucent barrier. I felt the night coalescing much like a flower symbolic from some outcast mythology. The energy from bud to bloom set to humming deep within, like a symphony being steadily turned up until the volume is so loud your bones vibrate into dust.

Standing, I stretched upward into the heavens as hard and far as my body was willing to reach. I looked around the room, bathed in what little glow poured in from the window. Stripping in the soft luminescence proffered from the unsheltered portal, I was bemused as the glow from the moon mirrored itself upon my pale flesh, and smiled.

I could feel the night slipping from me, moving too fast so I quickened my pace to match. Showered and freshly dressed, I moved hastily through the preparations to leave. Locking the door, I slipped out into the night. The night was calm and rich, softly whispering her secrets to all the denizens nocturnal. The grounds and walks were wet still from earlier rains.

Moving to the parking lot I came upon my vehicle, glimmering under the moonlight like a bloodstain poured into cast, creating shape and sustenance. The strain of the urge relaxed once the engine ignited.

The drive was over in an instant of moonlight and swift passing shadows. Pulling in to an empty parking lot, I sat over looking the beach and the fierce flowing ocean. Exiting the vehicle I stood, tasted the air fresh from the ocean that created it. Removing the light jacket and my shoes I placed them on the seat and floorboard and closed the door.

Making my way through the parking lot, past the hotels and life guard stations I sat on the hard packed sand a scant distance from the sea lapping at the terrain that had struggled up and out of its salty demanding grasps. I stared at the pool of deep sapphire, amethyst and jade glittering beneath the stark white rabbit. Inhaling deeply I knew the decision had been made and I stood.

If answers were to be had, the time had come…

Velvet Lined

Velvet lined my mouth
Soft and crushing
Enfolding
All the secrets I’ve yet to spill
I scrambled to catch
And eagerly consume
All the embers
Glittering like rubies in the light
With great haste I
Filled my mouth to bursting
Inhale
Conflagration
Overwhelming this
Hell
Heaven
Sweet sensation cascading
Down and out
Fierce heat so long only
Soul strong
Erupting and devouring every
Inch of flesh
The way I sit and patiently wait
For your mouth
To fulfill

Where Wolves Wander…

Thick ribbons swirl noxious and delirium resounding the heartfelt need. Entwining and burning with the heat of want, fine flowers blooming in open air where death itself finds fear. Mysteries purged, like vomit of the bulimics –But mama I just wanna be pretty– cruel the smile that decorates her lips, that sick upward twist leaving you bereft of hope and warmth

Satan prefers it chilly

In the noontime hours pass in seconds and the depth of things are thicker than you can stand, wading through concrete proves vast entertainment in moments where eternity spins wildly. Every detail a glaring neon sign to those with a physical aversion to all light – the glower noxious in a way bees or penicillin is to fools. Rush rush to those needles, sweetly awe striking in their twisted colors warning death and toxins. Delicate the supple flesh porcelain hued reaching languorously towards the thorn, some sleeping beauty out of context in a world where the prince has long since died – it would seem the joke is on her. And the laughter is so loud it’s quiet, like the rush of waves along the shore; maybe the ocean wants out?

Roll back, the eyes of a dead man, you mimic in some ironic twist – proof of life and also mockery of his current state; not your fault, you are not the man nor god who took what little life he had, in a said twist of fate he was wasting it anyway…

The birds hum loudly if you listen a moment, the sharp smack of their wings slicing the air like emo’s with razor blades who have no life left to give and no idea of what real pain might be. You watch them wondering if maybe they have the real idea nailed, get out quick before there is anything worth living for; the cold slap of your own death hits you. It’s coming and you can feel it in every breath you take, beat of your heart – but then it might not be so noticeable if death weren’t watching you from the doorway, waiting in that way of Cheshire cats.

If only he would smile

Maybe those skittering trembles crossing your flesh would cease, unlikely given his profession. Hell even the coldest heart finds warmth in something, no matter the iron casing and steel reserve; it is the ones who pretend not to notice who care the most, and you laugh and enjoy their company freely as they give it to you like those dancing with the wild wolves in forests – but if you took the moment to wholly understand what it is they are giving you, what all they have risked, maybe you would not be so careless with their hearts; for surely their soul is swiftly behind it.

Do not give me that look, souls are as easy to give as hearts; words of caution to those who so choose to release them, as many of these addle brained minions of soulless monetary fucking seek only satisfaction of the self ensure that the peril you are taking is worth the leap – even Geronimo could not take a redo in that leap.

Hearts heal Souls do not

Awakening in the forest in early dawn, the sky is that purple gray shade resplendent in newness, like the fawns of spring. Dew heavy on the grass reaching for the sun it feels crawling ever slow across the surface of the world –resembling the whispered passion of a lover as their breath and lips play delicately upon ripened flesh– reminiscent of shiny worlds, clear with a slate as new as any soul’s. Evaporation is sex only the elements understand, heat and desire tangible in ways humans yearn to be. Fuck romeo and juliet, I want to be water waiting for fire to ignite me; primal in a way only the gods understand, waiting as they do for their fifteen minutes of fame to be repeated–Mithras laughs in that silent joke only he and Dionysus share, while christians frown their disapproval.

I want to be silent in the ways vampires hear, that fleshy torrent wholly consuming and enveloping, that sweet divine scent and taste only those born of angel’s knowledge. Envy is an interest of its own when paired with indifference; a plaguing scoff of all they have been granted yet supreme curiosity would belie more than is apparent, and wearing Mona Lisa’s smile I sit silent, center of their attention entirely consumed and barren of their opinions of it.

Looking silently I peer over fields of ice and mountains built of thousands of millions of flakes as individual as a soul in the universe – I see those wookiee’s arguing with vulcans while smirking from the shadows in a veiled way so as not to attract attention – and that great whiteness blinds with all the fury of the cold burning hotter than black fire. You can see spanning those endless white fields the glass tower at the heart, rising like the babylonian tower; only instead of attempting to reach heaven it sits like a fat cat, satisfied in marring the skyline. In telescopes you can see the blood smeared a conglomerate range of brown-black-maroon where there was something trapped inside, and sick with the knowledge of ice approximating sharpness so severe it dulls razors you ponder what could have escaped from that hell -knowing full well the devil would scurry quicker than a bat out of hell given the sight of the thing- and in that mellow instance of insight what gives you pause is not what came out, but what could possibly have the force to imprison itself in such an abomination.

Quietly the warmth of life whispers upon your neck, caressing as a lover does in willing you to abandon that which frightens you. And grasping sweetly your face betwixt hands supple as lambskin and firm as steel you surrender – given the nature of the one holding yourself it may be a muzzle buried in your throat in the moment

You could always offer your soul in absolute submission.

A Girl Can Dream

I’m choking down those ashes again. Maybe I wouldn’t be so eager to shovel mounds into my serrated gob if only I could remember the taste of something else. I know I am missing something and it’s so close I can feel the weight of it crushing down upon me. I cram another handful and suck it down.

If you could crawl inside the windows, past the blue glass and peer down further into the ebon depths hidden, fold of a world. Press yourself against those frightening crags and move further down. Coming out of the darkness the light would blind and illuminate with such coldness that frigid still and smothered hangs the air. Wander down any path and the evidence of decay is heavy and thick. Remnants of a long forgotten glory smite the shite stained surface. This place has been dying for so long it doesn’t remember what life was. Hope is the white horse dying in the open court, eight shades of diseased emerald. The blood, however, is bright. Death imminent vivid in a washed out existence.

You could storm the creature without so much as a flinch. The eyes are dull and sticky, flecked with black dirt. Mayhaps death has already come and gone, but the rattling breath and consistent gush of blood communicate what is left of life in this being. Maybe it doesn’t know how to become dead, thus imprisoned in an endless state of dying. That could be one of your childish notions, easily waved away by the harsh stamp of adulthood, if only the horror of it was not so palpable. And as it consumes you, the realization that the entire world has been in this state long enough to see old gods overthrown while new ones were erected hits you like the moon crashing into earth. The vomit is hot and sticky on the back of your hands before you comprehend what has happened.

Your breath ragged the arctic air harsh in the back of your throat and you keep sucking it down – waiting for your heart to cease its frantic pounding, your head to cease its dizzy spinning, your eyes to blink back into focus. As this happens you feel it, the dread sensation of foreign eyes intense upon you, crawling – prickly sticky, like roaches – your stomach entangled and stone, your eyes follow the invisible path back to the voyeur. The white horse is watching you with those lifeless fish eyes and the echo startles you into actuality before your body has time to tell your mind that you’ve finished screaming. The world is blurring past you before you comprehend you are running, you gulp harder at the air willing your lungs to fill to bursting so you can run. Run run RUN RUN RUN RUN. The word is every breath, thought, sensation of movement, gush of blood from your heart; your body is screaming it so loud you’ve lost the feeling of movement and all you see is a world smearing past you faster and faster.

The pain is neon red, lancing through your arms and head. Panting rigid and callous, you are coughing before you notice you’re crying so hard you can’t breathe. You gulp down the air between sobs; sweet, cool and laden with soft hints of life collapsing to the ground you revel in the texture of the grass – the supple warmth and tangy scent as your weight crushes it. You stumble home; grateful for the mild chill the breeze conjures, eliciting goose bumps upon your flesh. Climbing the steps you’ve almost forgotten what you just witnessed, as you shut the door that eerie dread fills you; at the time it was so insignificant you had overlooked it, but now it is staring you down. That place held no sound; even the rattle of Hope was silent, only noticed in the series of bubbles in the bloody froth.

Your stomach churns but you try to disregard as you twist the knob and water rages downward sending a cloud of steam into your face, the adjustment and stripping are done in a haze. One foot follows the other into the glorious cascade that’s easing a chill out of your soul you didn’t conceive being there, and tragedy strikes as you’ve closed the glass door and managed to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. It wouldn’t be so bad, if the blood staining your life toned flesh wasn’t a horribly perfect color match for the blood of the dying equine fit to match the dying world you abandoned for dead. The vomit sprays the doors and walls, retching between sobs you fight to forget, to leave the dead world behind, like some twisted childhood nightmare re-envisioned for one last haunt. Still hunched over dry heaving long after the saccharine hot water swept away the remnants of vomit and blood, you cling to the warmth of the liquid careening down your spine.

The light of midday brightens the room and you breathe deep, the air thick and heavy with early afternoon; and as your foot graces the floor you feel the wooden fiber of it, rich and earthen beneath you as your body moves from the bed to the window. As beautiful as this new world seems, the wind even seems to carry a soft lilting note – sorrow pressing hard on your mind and a memory you wish to forget. Shuffling back to bed you surrender once more to the glorious amnesia Hypnos grants; mayhap days pass and in vein the sense, as the clock betrays mere minutes. Peering up at the ceiling you fight between forgetting and scheming, torn betwixt the sense of guarding one you care for or of self preservation.

Waking to a new day, the weight upon your heart has somehow lessened, and the guilt racks you into a harsh sob; preparing for the task at hand while blinded by responsibility is swiftly done. Calming breath to steady yourself at the window overlooking that bright world you can see with such voracity, a vein attempt to preserve the sense of innocence. A sensation familiar crawls upon your skin and you look down to the sidewalk beyond and into the eyes of dull blue glass and the tears well softly in the corner, betraying you and your decision. You cannot save her, you wouldn’t know how - but if you remain friends the fact of this would drive you mad; abandon is written on your face as plainly as E PLURIBUS UNUM on the currency, full of sorrow your frown twists into that smile all the gods of pain and loss bear. As you bring up your gaze to meet her face, her piercing stare, your eyes convey “I cannot save you and I cannot stay” and this alone is awful, but the pain is sharpened by her soft smile and the ease of her body language as hers convey “I know. And I forgive you.”

Turning your back you slide to the floor and let the world fade away into the blurring tears and the wracking sobs.

I might notice I was crying if I could feel it and if I was accustomed to seeing where I went. I lived in your world once. I know this, but I cannot remember. Sometimes I think about it, but all reminiscence brings is pain. I feel the chill coming and sight relief.

Might not be death, but a girl can dream…

Some Secret Sin Crept Upon My Lips And Unwittingly I Uttered The Utterly Reprehensible…

I raged silent against a violent world. All of it sticky remorse and translucent pain. So unsure and yet secure and well aware. My heart picks up a notch. The slightly unnoticeable flush betraying the giddy up of a rhythmic enthused muscle. A light in the eyes evinces and undermines the rest. Marbled body- cold, unyielding steel mimicry. Vampiric ancient a statued self but somewhere within blood rushes. Hot pooled seduction rushing through cable systems working a little too efficiently.

You only smile at them. I’m screaming – quiet, quiet, shh – and the silence of it fills volumes. A polite grimace is all I’m bequeathed but I snatch. Child of Ethiopia with a steak. The slightest hint of recognition and nuclear reaction causes this cold star to burn hot. Chameleon black to vivid red.

Burn with a yearning futile as a child building a tower to heaven. Tears like acid carve hot trails along marble — canyons in wake. I’m only breathing to see if you notice. Curious. Hurt. Wanting. Hating, loathing, impeaching every notion. I see you look at them, watch them, converse with them, touch them, smell them. Green eyes veiled, still as prey. Angst climbs tendons like electric charging batteries. Frozen in the instant–beg for an ending far away as Armageddon. I’m lost in my own iron tranquility and my silver tongue slit my throat long ago. Soft sighs mock the cries I make that cannot escape my python throat.

Velvet lashes flick liquid diamonds swiftly from traitorous doorways. Hard to breath in the vice grip of self control but I’ve learned naught else. I’m bursting expanding rushing racing to fill all directions. Thundering madness out and away, anywhere but here. I can’t bear to move –to leave–

Silent fingers grip like springs wound tight, steel twisted–clenching vicious. Clutch it, huddle closer. Pain swirls and encircles and strangles that bastard that keeps beating after long requited silence.

How do you fix what you can’t change. I regret not being what you want. I regret not being what you need. I regret being here. I regret – being. And I huddle in awe and fear, pain is sweet lust and I let it linger while your near. You’re palpable as I ache starvation.

I stumble unable to convey the idea so simple its infinitely complex. Light candles to your memory even as I make plans to see you on the marrow. Plans you’ll never know about because you’ll never notice me beyond the passing glance. A gift I’ll cherish even as you regret descending your gaze upon me. Odd scents promulgate the burning flesh as I caress the flame lost in imagery vivid with you. Red poppy among the sea of clover. I’m [grasping, grabbing, rushing] for the safety while eagerly falling into your desire.

A rush to open that red door only to find the light within marks the emptiness of time and space without some semblance of you. Violent angry rush boldly streaks black upon it. Bury the desire– a betrayal of myself.

I will never have you because I can never be what you desire and I’ve nothing left. How stranglely hollow filled with your emptiness. Awe struck and breathless.

Wishing an eternity of this.

Folklorist

Sometimes I think life must be square. Random anemic events. Dwindling dancers pinched in the moonlight. Tiny tiny bubbles. Some sunbeams feel restricted. Locked in boxes with no light.
I find them glittering like fireflies.

Icy Slumber

Clear ice pours swiftly
Encircles metal tunnel to forever
Blocked with silver marble
Ice rises in personal porcelain pools
Curled white fabric flashes
Translucent floating in timeless
Eternity of liquid ice
Thick golden spider-silk strands
Dance forbiddingly in new home
Figure merges infinitely
With gentle ice caressing
Deep entrancing darkness
So close to forever
Light explodes